


All of Your Flaws Are Aligned With This Mood of Mine

by TearCatcher



Series: Not Sure I'm There Yet But I'm Certain I've Arrived [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Comeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, fluffy BDSM, this is the filthiest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/pseuds/TearCatcher
Summary: “Just use me however you want,” had been Pete’s suggestion, since this is their first time trying out the blindfold and cuffs. “You can do whatever you want to me." Pete had envisioned himself blindfolded and fastened to the headboard. Having him on the floor on his knees was Patrick’s preference - for better access to his mouth. Pete had been quick to agree, but wanted a promise of being strapped to the bed in the future.





	All of Your Flaws Are Aligned With This Mood of Mine

“Are you sure you can’t see anything?” Patrick asks, minutely adjusting the silky black blindfold that covers Pete’s eyes.

Pete, who is on his knees before him, naked on the carpet in front of their bed, sighs patiently. “Why would I lie? I’d be cheating myself.”

“I don’t think you’d _lie_ ,” Patrick says indignantly. “I just want to make sure you’re sure.” He takes a few steps back and forth, looking suspiciously at the blindfold’s edges, then makes a face at Pete, fashioning his hands into claws.

Pete makes no indication he saw him. “I am sure, and my boner is wilting,” he complains.

“Watch it,” Patrick says, flicking Pete softly on the ear.

“Hey!” Pete yelps, his hand flying up to his ear as Patrick chuckles.

“I’m the one in charge, right?” Patrick reminds him.

Pete’s demeanor immediately changes. His hands drop to his sides and he straightens his spine, bowing his head slightly. “Yes, Patrick,” he says in a low, chastised voice.

Patrick sucks in a sharp breath. Now no one’s boner is wilting. He’s not in the mood to be playful anymore; he wants to _play_. He swallows hard before saying slowly, “Put your hands behind your back, baby.”

Pete quickly complies, bringing his hands together so his loosely balled fists are touching on his lower back, right above the lovely swell of his ass. Patrick retrieves the new pair of handcuffs off the bed. They are padded with soft black leather and ridiculously expensive. Getting the highest quality handcuffs money could buy had been at Patrick’s insistence; he didn’t want Pete uncomfortable or to put his wrists in jeopardy. (Pete had been so excited the day they’d arrived that he’d accosted Patrick and blew him right there in the foyer.) Patrick takes his time fastening the cuffs around Pete’s wrists - first one, then the other, making sure they’re on just snug enough. As he works, he watches Pete’s torso rise and fall with quick, excited breaths, while he struggles to control his own breathing.

Once Pete’s wrists are secured, he steps away to admire the sight before him. Pete on his knees, hands bound behind his back, his lean, bare torso on open display, with his fully hard cock jutting out, is a gorgeous sight indeed. “Just use me however you want,” had been Pete’s suggestion, since this is their first time trying out the blindfold and cuffs. “You can do whatever you want to me." Pete had envisioned himself blindfolded and fastened to the headboard. Having him on the floor on his knees was Patrick’s preference - for better access to his mouth. Pete had been quick to agree, but wanted a promise of being strapped to the bed in the future. Patrick’s already thinking that’s going to be just fine with him.

“Are you good, baby?” Patrick asks softly, even though Pete looks eager as fuck to get started.

Pete nods his head rapidly in assent. “I’ll be so good for you, “ he says eagerly.

That’s not even what Patrick meant, but _holy shit_. “I know you will,” he says. “You can go all the way down on your knees, baby. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

“Yes, Patrick,” Pete says, and sits back on his heels, the muscles in his thighs becoming more prominent. Patrick didn’t want to be called “sir” or - god forbid - “master”, but he appreciates Pete’s formal, obedient tone. (And he’s never called Pete “baby” so many times in the space of ten minutes, but it feels right in this instance.)

Patrick starts removing his own clothes, grateful that they had made sure the room was warm. He's more comfortable with his nudity than he usually is, feeling no self consciousness since Pete can’t see any of the parts of him he himself doesn’t think are attractive, despite Pete’s insistence of the contrary. Patrick suspects that Pete knew how liberating he would find this, and it’s part of the reason a blindfold was suggested in the first place.

He circles around so he can approach Pete head-on. “Are you ready, baby?” he murmurs.

Pete licks his lips. Patrick can see his pulse fluttering on the side of his neck. “So ready.”

Patrick walks up to Pete with his cock in his hand. “Hold still,” he instructs. Pete nods slightly. Patrick starts on one side of his face, rubbing the head of his cock over his cheekbone, leaving a faint, sticky trail. He passes it over Pete’s lush, barely parted lips, but when Pete opens his mouth he pulls it away, making Pete groan. “No,” he tells him in a firm, deep voice. “You can’t have it yet.” Pete closes his mouth, making a low moan in the back of his throat. Patrick may have never been this turned on before in his life, and they’ve barely started. He traces the other side with just the tip of his cock again, then steps a little bit closer so he can rub its length across first one cheek, then the other. Pete’s stubble is mildly prickly but not altogether unpleasant. He even rubs across Pete’s nose, hoping Pete’s nostrils are invaded with his scent. He finishes by another swipe across Pete’s mouth, leaving a shiny line of precome across his lower lip.

“Lick your lips,” he tells him, and Pete’s pink tongue darts out, lavishly running over both his top and lower lips, being showy. His lips are shiny and slick-looking when he’s done, but not the way Patrick wanted.

“No, no, no, like this,” he says, grabbing a handful of the top of Pete’s hair and tilting his head back. He brings some saliva to the front of his mouth and leans down, swiping his broad, flattened tongue across Pete’s mouth. Pete is startled and tries to kiss him at first but he soon figures it out.

Patrick straightens up, satisfied to see that Pete’s mouth now looks truly wet. “Don’t open your mouth until I say you can,” he cautions, and holds back his own moan when his cock makes contact with Pete’s slick lips. He first swirls the head around his mouth and then slides either side of the shaft along his lips. They yield under the pressure but Pete follows Patrick’s instructions and keeps his teeth shut behind them. Patrick could keep this up for quite awhile because the visual alone is doing a lot for him, but saliva dries up quickly and the skin of his cock soon starts to drag on Pete’s lips.

“You’re being sooo gooood, Pete,” Patrick purrs, low and drawn out, and Pete moans at the praise. Patrick fists both hands into Pete’s hair this time, taking care not to mess with the blindfold. Pete sways on his knees a bit but Patrick steadies him with gentle tugging at his hair, then steps closer and shoves himself at Pete’s face. He’s just kind of smashing Pete’s face into his crotch, and it should look ridiculous, with his dark, heavy cock bobbing back and forth off of Pete’s face, getting pressed down and springing back up to hit him in the cheek or chin, Pete’s flesh getting squished and contorted with it, but it somehow doesn’t. Finally, Patrick pulls Pete’s head back and holds it there, leaving Pete panting, his mouth open in anticipation.

“Are you ready to suck me?” Patrick asks, voice low and full of authority.

“Yes, please,” Pete gasps, head pulling at Patrick’s grip in his hair as he tries to lean toward him. 

Patrick pulls back with a sharp tug. “ _I_ move your head for you, understand?”

“Yes, Patrick,” Pete says desperately, sounding like there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to have Patrick’s cock in his mouth.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he says, more gently than before, and Pete doesn’t open his mouth as much as he puts it on fucking display, letting his tongue lap over his bottom lip slightly and opening it to the perfect size and shape of Patrick’s cock, as if his mouth has its dimensions memorized.

Patrick growls and lunges forward, trying not to thrust too hard from the start. Pete takes him in as eagerly as Patrick expects, making muffled noises around his dick and using his tongue exquisitely. He seems to be adjusting quickly, so Patrick feels comfortable tugging his hair to get his head to move in time with the thrusts of his hips. He starts out slow and steady, but quickly increases in speed and intensity, until Patrick is fucking Pete’s mouth like he never has before. Soon Pete has totally relaxed his jaw and dropped his tongue out of the way. They're getting into actual throat fucking territory, but instead of shoving Pete’s head far down onto his cock and coming down his throat, Patrick pulls out, leaving Pete gasping. Letting go of the hair in his right hand, he jacks off all over Pete’s face.

They’re both panting, and Patrick is staring in awe at the sight of his come covering Pete’s face. He had mainly succeeded in his effort to avoid both the blindfold and Pete’s mouth, hitting mostly his cheeks, with a little across the bridge of his nose. There is only a spot on the bottom of one side of the blindfold, and a bit by the corner of his mouth, which Pete darts his tongue out to lick.

Patrick yanks his hair, pulling his head backwards. “Did I say you could taste?”

Pete draws in a sharp breath. “No, Patrick.”

“Then what do you think you’re doing?” Patrick asks, punctuating with another sharp yank that makes Pete moan.

“I wanna taste,” he whines pathetically. “I want your come.” He knows exactly what he’s doing, and Patrick is throbbing at his words, even though he can’t get fully hard again yet. And if he’s throbbing, he knows Pete must be feeling like he’s about to burst.

Inspiration suddenly strikes. “You want my come?” he asks. He lets go of Pete’s hair and Pete makes a tiny whimper at the loss. He takes three fingers of his right hand and scoops up as much of the come off Pete’s face as he can, then grabs a pillow with his left and tosses it on the floor in front of Pete. “Bend over,” he says, bracing Pete’s chest with his clean hand and helping him until his chest is resting on the pillow on the floor, his ass now up in the air.

“I’ll give you my come,” he says, rubbing at Pete’s now exposed entrance with his come-covered fingers. 

“Oh, fuck,” Pete gasps, moving his knees apart further to spread his ass open more, arching into Patrick’s touch. In the handcuffs behind his back, his hands flex and grasp at nothing.

Patrick’s come is slippery, and it makes the slide of his middle finger into Pete’s ass easy. Pete immediately starts rocking back and forth onto it, trying to push it deeper inside him, but Patrick surprises both of them with a small, stinging smack on the fleshiest part of his ass cheek. “You need to pay attention to what I tell you you can do,” he admonishes.

Pete lets out what has to be the world’s longest moan, but he relaxes his body, even though his ass squeezes around Patrick’s finger. When he stills, Patrick works his index finger in next to the other one with no problem, then crooks them both to apply pressure to the soft bump of Pete’s prostate.

“Oh, goddddddd,” Pete groans, struggling to stay put.

“You can move now,” Patrick tells him, and Pete eagerly rocks his hips back and forth, arching at the upstroke so Patrick’s fingers hit him just right. “That’s right, baby,” Patrick coaxes him. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Do you think you can come just from this?”

Pete seems almost delirious, his moaning guttural and continuous. His chest is resting on the pillow on the floor, his face turned to the side, blindfold still firmly in place, his mouth hanging open and red from being abused by Patrick’s cock. Patrick looks at Pete’s own cock, which is a swollen, angry dark red, leaking so much there’s a string of precome hanging from it. He wouldn’t mind sucking him off, but he can’t do that in their current tableau, which Patrick likes quite a lot.

Patrick crooks his fingers more, trying to rub tiny circles directly onto Pete’s prostate. “Come for me, baby.”

Pete’s moans increase in volume and his hip thrusts increase in intensity but not speed. He’s squeezing Patrick’s fingers tight, and a drag is starting to form, one that soon won’t be pleasurable. Patrick ducks down under his hand and licks where his fingers are going in and out of Pete, teasing at his rim. The licking throws Pete’s rhythm off, as he tries pressing his ass into Patrick’s face, so Patrick moves away, satisfied that the slide of his fingers has become easier with the extra lubrication of his saliva. Pete starts bucking his hips back and forth far more quickly now, and Patrick keeps up the rubbing inside him, applying firm, steady pressure.

“I want you to come for me, Pete,” Patrick in a low, purring voice. “C’mon, baby, you’ve been so, so good.”

At these words, Pete arches his hips up sharply, cries out, and Patrick watches his dick spurt repeatedly as his ass clenches and releases over and over around his fingers. Finally Pete stops coming, and Patrick gently pulls his fingers out. Pete promptly collapses onto his stomach, right on top of the puddle of come he left on the rug. 

Patrick hurries to release the handcuffs and helps guide Pete’s arms up above his head, then pulls off the blindfold. _Aftercare,_ Patrick thinks. It’s important, especially for someone like Pete who loves to be cared for anyway. He pushes his fingers gently through the crown of Pete’s hair. Pete makes a small, appreciative noise, his eyes fluttering weakly but not opening. Patrick leans down to place a kiss on Pete’s forehead. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks softly.

“Perfect,” Pete mumbles dreamily. His eyes are still closed, but a smile plays at the edges of his lips.

Patrick rubs Pete’s shoulders - he read that, after being handcuffed, a person’s shoulders are more likely to hurt, rather than their wrists - and Pete makes more faint happy sounds. “Shoulders okay?” Patrick asks, placing a string of soft kisses across them.

“Mmm hmm.”

Patrick’s hands make their way down both of Pete’s arms and he examines his wrists while he rubs them gently, checking for marks. The cuffs were worth the investment because not a trace of them is left behind. Pete is loose and pliant, occasionally making a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

Satisfied that Pete isn’t harmed, Patrick lies down beside him, propped up on one elbow so he can look into his face. There is some faint white crust from Patrick’s dried come on it, and his mouth is still red, but Patrick kisses him anyway. Pete kisses back with an eager weakness, and finally cracks open his eyes.

“I love you,” Patrick tells him softly. “That was amazing.”

Now a shit-eating grin spreads across Pete’s face, and he closes his eyes again, as if the effort to both smile and keep his eyes open is too much. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Patrick will let Pete have this victory. As much as he was reluctant at first, Patrick now has no regrets that they tried this, and he’s excited about future possibilities. He kisses Pete’s smiling mouth to soften the blow of what comes next. “All right, shower time.”

Predictably, Pete makes a sound of protest, furrowing his brow.

Patrick is far more gentle with his words and tone than he would normally be. “You can’t lie on the floor all night. And - “ he gestures up and down Pete’s body, even though Pete can’t see him. “ - you’re covered in come.”

Pete smiles another closed-eye smile, looking satisfied. “Yeah, it’s kinda awesome.”

Patrick chuckles a little, shaking his head, and resists the urge to call Pete a freak. “Come on - I’ll wash you,” he says more firmly this time, stroking Pete’s hairline.

“I don’t think I can stand up,” Pete mutters.

“I have faith in you,” Patrick says, pulling him close. Patrick’s starting to get cold.

Pete musters up the energy to turn so that they’re belly to belly, and Patrick winces at the wet mess Pete brings with him, but he allows Pete to snuggle up and tuck his crusty face into Patrick’s neck, settling his arms tightly around him. They lie like that for a minute before Patrick says, “Okay, Pete, I’m going to get up now - “

“Nnnn!” Pete says, clinging more.

“I’m going to get up now,” Patrick repeats, “and start a bath, and then you’re going to get in it with me.”

Now Pete makes an interested noise. “Bath _with_ me?” Patrick and Pete shower together all the time, but Patrick doesn’t enjoy baths in general.

“And I’ll wash you,” Patrick confirms.

“Sold,” Pete says in delight.

Patrick places a blanket over Pete and a robe over himself while he gets the bath ready, adding some citrusy-smelling oil he finds inoffensive after suspiciously sniffing the different bottles lining the windowsill over the tub. He makes it nice and hot, thinking that two people are only truly compatible in a relationship when they both appreciate the same water temperature. When he comes back into the bedroom, Pete is watching him with dark eyes.

“I was afraid you’d be asleep already,” Patrick tells him with a smile.

Pete looks up at him seriously. “I need you.”

Patrick’s breath catches in his throat, because Pete is so sincere, laying his heart open with this simple statement. “I got you,” he promises quietly.

Patrick actually enjoys the bath, washing Pete and giving his shoulders, neck and arms another rubdown, aided by the slightly oily water. He even dries Pete off when they get out, and Pete is as complacent as a pampered lapcat under all the attention, a faint grin never leaving his lips. They climb into bed warm and cozy, and Pete wraps himself around Patrick, clinging comfortably in a way that reminds Patrick of hotel bed cuddles from years ago, only lacking the desperation it used to have. Patrick could honestly go for another round, but Pete is possibly more relaxed than Patrick has ever seen him without the aid of pharmaceuticals - Patrick had laughed at Pete’s half-hearted attempts to paw at his dick while they were in the bath - and Patrick is definitely satisfied enough to wait until morning.

Pete falls asleep almost instantly, his breath heavy and damp against Patrick’s neck, and Patrick drifts off soon after, while musing about what they can try next.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](coastingon-potential.tumblr.com)


End file.
